Date: Fri, 19 Aug 2005 03:31:19 +0200
From: Stray Kiwi
Subject: Dirty-Fuck (bond, scat, piss)
A story from a perverted mind The following story is a work of fiction. Any
resemblance to real people is entirely coincidental. If male-to-male sexual
scenes offend you, then you should not read this story. Additionally, if
you are under 18 years old, the laws in most areas state that you're just
too young to read filth like this.
Stray
straykiwi@hotmail.com
**********************************
Dirty-fuck
I was wrenched out of a deep sleep by a pounding on my front door. Four
a.m.! Who the fuck could that be?
Hurriedly, I threw on a robe and made my way downstairs and across the hall
to the door. I switched on the outside light and peered through the
peephole.
There was a kid - 16? 17? 18? - wearing an oversized camouflage jacket. He
had a cute, square face with large brown eyes surrounded by thick lashes,
heavy, dark eyebrows, a turned-up nose and a wide, sensual mouth. His head
was completely shaved.
Teague.
At least, he said his name was Teague. This little shit told so many lies
you never quite knew what to believe.
I unlocked the door, opened it wide and took in the full picture.
He had his hands stuffed in the pockets of the jacket, his head cocked
cheekily to one side and wore his invariable tight acid-washed jeans and
the red Docs that I'd bought him. Those boots were immaculate; always rely
on a skinhead to treasure his fuckin' boots . . .
"Wanna dirty-fuck?" he asked.
I regarded him coolly.
"You stink," I remarked. "When did you last fuckin' shower?"
"Dunno; three, four days."
"What the fuck have you been up to?"
"Nuffin . . ."
I grabbed him round the throat and slammed him into the doorframe.
"Don't bullshit me, fuckhead. It's four in the morning, you stink to
high-fuckin'-heaven . . ." with my other hand I reached into his inside
pocket and grabbed hold of a wad of notes " . . . and where the fuck did
you score all this dosh?"
"Pulled a coupla tricks," he mumbled.
"A couple?"
"Four, then. Last one wanted me to piss on him so I charged him extra."
"You smell like he pissed on you . . ."
"Wanna dirty-fuck?"
I grabbed his collar and threw him inside.
"Get downstairs, you filthy mutt," I growled.
He grinned at me, opened the small door under the stairs and went down to
the cellar.
I sighed. Sometimes I didn't know who was controlling whom in this bizarre
relationship. I closed the front door, threw my robe onto the banisters,
put my heavy combat boots on and eased my hefty cock and balls through a
thick, heavy metal cockring. I groped my crotch and felt my dick swell as I
regarded myself in the mirror before heading downstairs.
Teague had already stripped naked, put his red Docs back on, and was facing
the wall with his legs spread wide, his arms above his head, also stretched
wide and leaning against the wall: the `strip-search' position. A single
overhead light shone directly onto his body and formed a small circle of
light around him, leaving the rest of the cellar space in gloomy, shadowed
darkness.
I skirted `round the edge of the light as I made my way to the sound system
and threw a Hummel CD into the player - something dark, moody . . . not the
usual trippy techno stuff I usually used . . . The music filled the space
as I opened my toy cupboard and selected a pair of heavy, padded leather
wrist restraints.
I turned and, still in the darkness, regarded Teague. No more than 5'7",
completely hairless except for a dusting of hair above his dick, not an
ounce of fat apparent anywhere, lightly muscled and pale white skin; so
pale it was almost blue.
"Come away from the wall and turn around," I commanded. He obeyed, placing
his hands behind his back and standing `at ease', staring straight ahead.
I came up behind him and fastened the cuffs around his wrists, brought his
hands `round the front of his body and connected the cuffs together. Coming
`round in front of him, I stared into his eyes.
"Dirty-fuck . . ." I murmured.
The hint of a smirk creased the corners of his mouth: I drew back my arm
and gave a back-hander across his too-cute face. Before he had time to
recover from the blow, I reached up and pulled down the end of a thick
corded nylon rope - red and black like his horny fuckin' boots - connected
to a pulley hanging from the open beams. I clipped the cuffs to the loop in
the end of the rope, pulled the other end of the rope and pulled his bound
hands well above his head, stretching him upright onto the balls of his
feet.
"Dirty-fuck," I repeated.
I hawked up phlegm and gobbed it into his face. The viscous slime trickled
down his cheek. He remained stoic, controlled.
With no warning, I grabbed hold of his body and thrust my face into one of
his exposed pits, breathing in the glorious rank sweat-stink of this
man-boy.
"You stink," I said and dragged my tongue over his filthy pit. "You gotta
learn how to shower, fuckhead . . ."
I sucked on his pits - first one, then the other - scraping my tongue
across his tender flesh and slurping up his stink while he writhed and
twisted in ecstasy, his bound hands not allowing him to escape from my
ministrations. I drank in his man-boy stink, savouring the stench,
wallowing in his filth, rolling his bitter-salt sweat stench in my mouth
. . .
Suddenly I left him and stepped out of the pool of light. I left him
dangling from the rope, panting slightly, his rock-hard dick spewing
strings of pre-cum. Silently I skirted round behind him, grabbing a heavy
leather belt on the way. I drew back my arm and slammed the belt onto his
arse cheeks. Teague gasped and involuntarily tried to escape from the
source of the blow; the rope securing his hands ensured he didn't move
far. He ended up with his back arched, his legs behind him and resting on
the tips of his toes while the full weight of his body was taken by his
wrists in their rope-secured restraints.
Without giving him time to recover I slammed into him again and again,
criss-crossing his marblesque arse cheeks with 15 or 16 angry, red stripes
while he writhed and cried out.
I threw the strap into a corner, scooped up his legs and, turning him to
face me, placed his booted ankles on my shoulders and grasped his flaming
arse cheeks in my hands. In this position I was carrying most of his weight
and we were facing each other, eye-to eye.
He glared at me, panting heavily.
I stared into those angry eyes, never losing contact as I massaged his arse
cheeks, stretching them further apart as my fingers made their way to his
fuck-hole. His eyes glazed over and I grinned as I explored his hole. He
was already bearing down, opening up his hole for me.
"Fuck . . ." he sighed. "Fuck me . . . Dirty-fuck me . . . Dirty,
dirty-fuck me . . ."
I plunged two fingers deep into the hot, steamy recess of his fuck-hole and
immediately found our prize. I stirred my fingers around, stretching them
apart, opening his hole further, then withdrew and brought them up to his
face.
My two fingers were thickly coated with dark-brown shit. Manboy shit.
Teague groaned as I brought the fingers up to my own face and inhaled
deeply, that sharp, acrid, unmistakeable stink. I moved my fingers to his
face and he immediately opened his mouth and stuck out his tongue. I wiped
my fingers on his tongue and smiled as he closed his mouth and sucked the
shit off his own tongue, a look of sheer joy on his face. He opened his
mouth again and I stuck my fingers inside, allowing him to suck them clean
of his own filth.
By this time my own dick was rock-hard and was pointing directly at his
gaping hole. I brought my hand back to cup his arse cheeks and eased him
down onto my dick.
His eyes flew open as the fat mushroom head popped inside his hole, then he
sighed and grinned a sleazy grin.
"Fuck, yeah," he groaned. "Dirty-fuck me!"
I felt my dickhead meet the slight resistance of the log of shit inside him
but I used Teague's own weight to let him slide all the way down my
pole. My dick slid deep into the hot shit-log; this dirty little slut was
obviously packed full!
Teague dropped his head back and groaned loudly as I started bouncing him
on my dick, driving into him deeper and deeper. He pushed down, stretching
his hole further open. I felt the additional pressure around my dick as he
forced more shit down into his rectum, squeezing around my pumping dick.
Each time I ripped my dick out of his pulsating hole, I'd drag more and
more shit with it, and as I slammed back into him that shit would be
squeezed off around his arse crack, my balls and my pubes.
The air was already heavy with the stench of his shit as I supported him
with one hand, reached up and released the rope that was still attached to
his cuffed wrists. I lowered him onto his back on the floor and, with his
boots still over my shoulders continued to pump his filthy, stinking shit
hole, enjoying the natural glue that joined us together.
I withdrew, lifted his feet back towards his head, curling him back onto
his shoulders so that his filthy, gaping hole was uppermost.
"Shit," I demanded.
He readily obliged and I watched his hole gape open as a huge brown log
eased its vile way out of his hole and mounded up around his arsehole and
balls, dripping onto his chest and belly, creating small piles on the
floor.
I scooped up the vile mess in my hands and flung it with mock disgust into
his cherubic face.
"You are one sick, filthy, perverted little shit-head . . ." I muttered.
"Dirty-fuck, yeeeah," he burbled, "dirty, dirty, dirty-fuck . . ."
I shut him up by plunging my shit-covered hand into his mouth. As he
greedily licked and sucked every last remnant of his own shit from my
hands, I plunged my dick back down his filthy, gaping hole and filled his
stinkin' arse with my piss.
"Dirty, fuckin' maggot . . ." I muttered, as I dragged my dick out his
hole. He clenched his muscles and spouted out a fountain of man-piss and
boy-shit.
I regarded him cooly and threw him down onto the filth-covered floor. "You
made one fuck of a mess on my floor . . ."
I secured a collar around his neck, attached to a length of heavy chain
that was bolted to the wall and padlocked it in place.
"This had better be cleaned up by the time I leave for work, shit-head," I
barked as I strode across the floor towards the stairs. "And you know what
happens if it's not spotless . . ."
I snapped off the cellar light, plunging the space into darkness. Just as I
was about to mount the stairs I heard him mutter -
"Dirrrrty-fuck . . ."
- immediately followed by the sound of him lapping up his mess.
"Dirty, dirty-fuck," I replied as I left him to his work.
*********************************************
Copyright 2005 - Stray.
straykiwi@hotmail.com
All Rights Reserved.
Permission is NOT granted to publish this story to any PAY site, nor any
site other than nifty.org, without the author's prior consent. So there.